Special Part II

As far as family goes, I’ve really only got one sister, my mom and dad, my grandpa, and my one aunt. The other two aunts left me when my grandma passed away in 2015. My other sister, the baby of us siblings, is what I’d call a true lone wolf type of individual. My uncles by blood, eh, who knows. I used to be close to one of these uncles, but he basically ghosted me, after constantly reminding me he’d always talk with me. The family still involved in my life on a regular basis, pities me. I think they feel bad for me, because they’ve known me my whole life. They’ve seen how well I’ve faired in this life, and yeah- they feel bad. At some point, I lost my close friends. Wasn’t making any new friends. Struggled to keep a job when I still tried to make a basic 9-5 job something real in my life.

I haven’t felt the love of admiration or respect in a long time. It’s damn near impossible for me to unconditionally love myself when the world chooses to ignore me. I wish women who weren’t in a relationship would be the women who show me love. That used to be a real thing in my life. Single women on occasion would fall in love with me. It was fun, exhilarating. I felt like I mattered. I felt like I was important to someone else, who didn’t owe me that. When anyone wanted to be around me that wasn’t a family member, I felt like I was going to be okay, no matter what I would face the moments as they passed without feeling miserable and worthless.

It’s tough to stop drinking beer. Beer is legal. The nasty beer is cheap. And I feel like a rockstar after those first two beers. All my dreams seem possible when I’m drinking. I don’t feel like a loser when I’m drinking beer. I feel like I matter. So I keep drinking when I have money to do so.

I say this now, for you fucking idiots who read my work and watch from the sidelines like a bunch of emotionless spectators. If you were really in my life, if you gave a damn about my happiness, I wouldn’t feel like such a total piece of shit while consciously awake. It’s not just me who knows this- many people feel the same way I do. The saddest part about it all is that we can’t change people. People in America, especially white people who aren’t dirt poor, absolutely have the privilege to say and do and think whatever they want. So long as there’s no physical violence, people get away with psychologically fucking other people over, or making things worse for someone who needs someone to help. It’s not a felony, and therefore people pull this type of shit off all the time on others, without a guilty conscience. If you assholes cared, you’d have done better. You’d have already been more involved. People only care as much as is needed, like a bandaid. Sometimes surgery is required. Stitches and such. But, by God, that’s just asking too much of a person. They don’t know how to perform surgery! Well, you fucking idiots, the person will die if you don’t try to do something. You’ll just watch a man die on the floor. And you could’ve at least tried, tried to help more than just fucking standing there in silence. But you didn’t, and you won’t, because you’re all a bunch of spineless shitbirds.

I’m not going to apologize this time. It’s not right. It’s fucked up beyond comprehension that I’m still in the same boat. No one has jumped into my boat with coordinates to reach land, or a ship where we can recover until we reach the promised land. I’m just out here in my little boat, while you fucks shout and point directions at me…As if that’s fucking helped in the least bit. Dipshits, you’ve got to come into my boat and see how I see things. Pointing and shouting doesn’t work, at all. It just adds to confusion and chaos.

Someone needs to get into my boat with me. Someone needs to help guide me, so I can guide this boat to a better place. Again, shittiest part is that may never happen. Every fucking sailor for himself or herself, mate. Well fuck me- I was told a totally different story before departing the docks. I was told that there are compassionate sailors who would help, to hold onto hope until I found those compassionate sailors in times of being lost.

If I do end up killing myself, I can 100 percent guarantee it won’t happen today or tomorrow, or anytime in the next decade. No, I’ll have to lose all my family who still loves me first. Then, I’ll have to lose my house. Lose my dogs. Lose my ride. I still have so much to lose before I’m serious about suicide. When that time comes, hopefully I don’t kill myself. My Mom is Catholic, and Catholic’s see suicide as some unforgivable sin. I dunno if that’s true, but lemme put it this way- I’ve kept going through misery, pain, and abandonment because if it is an unforgivable sin, well… I really am trying to end up in Heaven. I do not wanna wind up in Hell for eternity.

I’ve said it before, that maybe all religions are a bunch of fictional stories to help us feel like there’s a better place in store for us after death. If it is all a bunch of smoke, who cares? It’s not like I’m losing anything if it wasn’t real. If some silly ass rule made by Catholics keeps me from committing suicide, fuck it, I’ll buy into it. At least that part I will. Because when I do die, and it’s not by my own hand, if that’s it, just nothing after death. I lost nothing. I gained nothing. Nothing is nothing. Nothing doesn’t give two shits what I believe in while I’m alive. If my beliefs in this life helped me push on, who cares. I’m not thumping what I deem to be pure truth, I have no idea what pure truth is outside of music and math. Believe whatever you want to, or don’t believe in anything, I don’t give a shit, just like nothing doesn’t care.

I care enough about me to make these statements. I mine as well be honest about how I feel towards other people who offer little to no help when it comes to my well-being. I mean you fuckers. We don’t even talk about fiction, and I fucking know we read the same kinds of stuff, for the most part. It really is fucked up. You all actively choose to be uninvolved. Fuck you, if you’re that kind of person in my life. It is YOU who chooses to be cruel. Not me, but you. Really think on that concept. That it really is you who sucks asshole.

Philip Dietrich Webb

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